Page 129 of On Edge

His body presses mine against the parapet. His body radiates heat, despite the freezing wind, and I twist around in his arms, burying my face against his chest, heaving in time with his breath. He lifts my head, his thumb tracing my cheek, brushing away my tears. And then kisses me.

His mouth is hard and demanding.

I should push him off, fight to get back down, get away from here. Instead, I kiss him desperately back.

My hands fist in his shirt, pulling him closer. His teeth catch my lip, enough to draw blood. I gasp and bite back. Then he groans into my mouth, and deepens the kiss with his tongue, one hand tangling in my hair, the other locked on my waist. He tastes of metal and storms, and underneath it, hate and my own twisted need.

And as he shoves his hand into my panties, stroking his fingers through my soaking wet pussy, pure desire spikes through me.

“You’re so wet. Does this turn you on, little finch, being on the edge?” he murmurs against my mouth, continuing to tease me in slow agonising circles.

“Y-yes.” I can’t lie.

“Good.” He nips my neck and then shoves his fingers deep inside me. I moan and shudder, sliding my hands down over his slick chest, digging my nails into his scars. But he grabs my wrists, stopping me easily.

“No, you don’t get to touch,” he says roughly, and pinning my arms behind my back. I struggle to get free, but either I don’t have it in me anymore to try, or it’s hopeless.

“Why?”

“Because I love it when you fight me.”

The rain drums over our hot skin, drenching us both so that all I can breathe is the scent of him; forest and woodsmoke andsomething masculine, that makes my knees feel boneless and the base of my spine turn molten.

“But I love it even more when you’re afraid.”

Still holding me hostage, he leans me back against the thin rail over the rushing water below.

Something inside me snaps. “No, wait!”

My breaths are short, and my body feels hard-wired, every nerve exposed.

“Stay very still or you’ll fall.”

“Troy, don’t.”

“Do you know how I know that she didn’t die falling from this tower?”

I shake my head, trembling from head to toe.

He leans close, still plunging into me, fingers curved, his thumb stroking me into an abyss. I’m practically grinding on his hand now.

“The water’s deep enough that falling won’t kill you.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Most of the year, the rains flood the lake, isolating this place. No way on, no way off. But falling off this tower, straight down, you’ll land in fifteen feet of water, miles out from the rocks. That’s how I know Nell didn’t die here.”

“You’re lying.”

“Then close your eyes,” he whispers.

I shake my head again.

“Close them.”

“W-why?” But I do as he says.

His voice goes cold. “Because I’m going to show you that I’m not.”